Rosemary and Rue
Page 72

Someone was shaking me. Neither of the loops of memory that had ensnared me included shaking—thrashing, bleeding, and dying, but no shaking. I tried to rise toward it and was slapped back by a branch of phantom roses, shoving me down. Dimly, far away, I heard screaming. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or not, and it didn’t matter. This time there was no tourist to help me into the water. The pulse of my heart was like a drum-beat, slowing down under the weight of blood and iron and tangled memory.
I wondered if I was ever going to stop hurting.
Connor slapped me.
The new pain was physical and sharp, letting me reclaim just a little ground. My heartbeat sped up as Connor slapped me again and again, the pain spiking each time to let me climb another step closer to the real world.
He was pulling back his hand to slap me again when I opened my eyes. “Hey,” I said, voice harsh, “you can stop now. Please.”
“I thought you were going to die,” he said, eyes wide.
“Join the club,” I said, trying to be flippant. I wasn’t succeeding. I tried to sit up, and he put an arm behind me, letting me lean against his side.
“What happened?”
“I inhaled too much water.”
“Try again,” Connor said, voice cold. “I’m a Selkie, remember? We drown people semiprofessionally: I know what drowning looks like. If you think I’m going to believe you inhaled too much water, you must think I’m either blind or stupid. I don’t know which is worse.”
I blinked at him, flushing. I hadn’t meant to offend him; I just didn’t realize my lie would be that obvious. Of course, most drowning victims don’t go fetal in the sand and scream their throats raw. The water in their lungs sort of prevents that. “I . . .”
“What happened, Toby? The truth.”
You have to trust someone eventually. That’s just how it works. Maybe Connor O’Dell wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it looked like he was my last one. “Evening happened,” I said, closing my eyes. “When she died, she made sure that I’d do what she asked. She wanted to be avenged, and so she—”
“Dare! She’s over here!” I opened my eyes to see Manuel and Dare running toward us, Dare stumbling in her high heels. “Ma’am! Ms. Daye!” Spotting Connor, they sped up, sudden murder in their expressions.
Connor tensed, and I smiled weakly, lifting one hand to wave. “They’re with me.” More loudly, I called, “Hey, guys. He’s with me, too.”
The pair staggered to a stop. Uncertainly, Manuel asked, “Are you all right, Ms. Daye?”
“I’m fine, Manuel; just a little damp. Connor was kind enough to fish me out of the water.” The ease of the lie astounded me. I guess battered, aching, and cursed had become status quo. “What are you two doing down here?”
“We saw these men go inside, only they were wearing don’t-look-heres so we couldn’t really look right at them, and Manny thought that maybe meant we should follow them, only we couldn’t find a way in, and—” I held up my hand, stopping Dare’s breathless tirade.
“Let’s try it this way,” I said. “Manuel? What happened?”
“We followed some men to the museum; they had a key, we didn’t. We circled the building and reached the cliff just in time to see you fall,” he said, tone brisk and formal.
“So you followed me after I told you not to, and saw us come out of the cliff?”
“Yes.”
“Manuel?”
“Yes?”
“That was dumb.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Turning to Connor, I asked, “Can you help me up? I need to get these two Home.” He shook his head, and scooped me into his arms as he stood. I yelped. “Hey!”
“What?”
“Put me down!” He started to walk down the beach, Manuel and Dare trailing along behind us. “Aren’t you listening? Put me down!”
“No. I am taking you—all of you—back to Shadowed Hills. You can leave when I’m sure you’ll survive.”
Considering recent events, that would probably be sometime in June. I sighed, settling back in his arms. My shoulder was starting to throb, providing a handy reminder that we weren’t safe where we were. Shadowed Hills? All right, that would do.
“This isn’t gonna calm Sylvester’s nerves,” I mumbled.
“Tough.”
“Shouldn’t we call Home first? To say where we’re going?” Manuel sounded unaccountably nervous, like he was afraid Devin would blame him for my impromptu swim. Maybe he would.
Digging into my pocket, I produced the waterlogged cell phone and tossed it onto the beach. “With what? My phone’s ruined. Have you got one?”
“No . . .”
“There you go, then. Connor, how are we getting to Shadowed Hills?”
“You have a car.”
“I can drive!” Dare said.
Connor and I exchanged a look, and he declared, “I’ll drive.” Dare pouted. Connor shook his head. “Sorry, kid. Not this time.”
Confident that Connor had matters in hand, I closed my eyes, letting myself relax. Shadowed Hills is safer than almost anywhere I know; most people have better things to do than bother Sylvester, who has a history of permanent solutions to temporary annoyances. He used to be a hero, after all, and some habits die hard. Besides, how often do you get to watch a Selkie try to drive?
Not that often, it turns out, even when the opportunity actually bothers to arise. Connor put me into the passenger seat, I closed my eyes, and we were there, exhaustion blanking out all the miles in between. I woke up when Connor stopped the car. Dare and Manuel cast worried glances my way as Connor scooped me out of the passenger seat, but I didn’t fight; I just let him carry me up the hill and into the knowe. I wasn’t entirely certain I could have made the walk.
Luna was waiting in the entry hall. There were no footmen in evidence; they had all apparently figured out that the safest place to be was far away from their worried Duchess. Her hair was uncombed, and her tails were knotting themselves behind her, winding and unwinding around each other in agitation.
“Are you all right?” she demanded, turning toward our sandy, water-stained party. The fact that I was curled in Connor’s arms probably made things look even worse, but I didn’t really have the strength to do much else. Manuel and Dare were trying to vanish behind us. Like most of Devin’s kids, they were fine when they were following orders, but they didn’t ad lib well. He never taught them how to be flexible. “Sylvester’s gone to challenge Devin for proof that you’re not dead. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”